Earlier this year, my co-BISS-conspirator Peryl moved. A lot. At last count, I think it was something like fourteen houses in three weeks. I could be exaggerating. But probably not.

She’d send an email, telling me she was looking through boxes for this or that, trying to figure out where she could find a good playground, and how she was keeping herself from insanity. I made appropriate noises of sympathy while sitting in my unpacked house and getting the mail from a mail box that had carried my address for eight years.

If I’d known then what I know now, I’d have whisked my way up the state and carried her off to a four week spa.

Moving with kids sucks.

I had one rule for my dynamic duo when we started getting boxes: reduce the toys by 30%.

I offered cold, hard cash in exchange for any toys they’d be willing to donate to a local women’s shelter. Cold, hard cash that would buy new toys after we get their new, shared bedroom set up.

I thought I was being fair. Apparently, I’m the meanest mommy in the whole wide world.

It started with the stuffed animals. There are five stuffed animals that see any sort of love from my son. Five. There are, however, 53 stuffed animals in his room. I assumed, silly me, that the remaining 48 could be donated to the fire department without fuss. (Did you know that most fire departments will take donations of gently used or new stuffed animals? They give them to children when they respond to calls.)

I assumed wrong.

Apparently, the stuffed cat at the bottom of the basket is his “most favorite stuffed animal in the whole wide world”. And he “loves more than anything” the penguin that still has its tag. Animal after animal made the cut. Finally, after a frustrating half hour, he decided he could part with two.

Two.

It was enough to send me for a glass of wine.

We move at the end of this week and their rooms are as full of toys as they were last month.

More, actually.

Their dad bought Joseph a new Lego set and Elizabeth a new doll.

Not. Helpful.

Do you have any tips to help me figure out how to reduce their toys? I’m about ready to sneak in ninja-style and just take them.

Mandy Dawson is the creator of In Mandyland, an almost daily blog recording her adventures in juggling a full-time job, two active children, four arguing hens, a fluffy bunny, and one ex-husband. A self-diagnosed gardening and crafting addict, she often finds herself gluing together clay pots and trying to discover the cure for brown thumb. When she’s not writing, she can be found burning dinners while she stares off into space with a story idea. She was a regular contributor for Makes Fun of Stuff, Aiming Low, and Six Kitchens, and has been featured on BlogHer and Mamapedia. She is an Assistant Editor for Write on Edge and has had her fiction featured in three anthologies currently available on Amazon.